


Rey, Running

by starsqwub



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Force-Sensitive Finn, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2020-07-12 19:23:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19951540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsqwub/pseuds/starsqwub
Summary: “Miracles?” General Leia Organa repeats, giving Rey a hard glance. The young woman’s eyes shine, alert and bright—and the force within her burns ferociously. This girl is hungry, the general notes. “No, I don’t believe in miracles.”Leia takes her husband’s hand and gently squeezes; a quiet moment passes. Then, his index finger applies the faintest bit of pressure, just inside her palm.She smiles. “But I do believe in Chewie.”—If she had the choice to run, where would Rey run to? This fic explores a galaxy where Han Solo lives, a new hero rises, and Rey starts running as fast as she can.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This’ll be a write-as-I-go, multi-chapter exploration of the events of The Last Jedi! Super excited about some of the dynamics I’ll dive into here... hope you enjoy chapter one!!

_Miracle._

Rey had heard the word once before on Jakku; she was 14, cleaning her daily salvage, when a Rodian off-worlder caught her in the middle of a daydream. Rodese was a tricky language for Rey at the time, but she was able to pick out the bare bones of his mutterings: 

“ _Useless—waiting—miracle._ ”

Rey slid her findings—two rusty inverters and several small dials—across Unkar Plutt’s trading counter.  “That word,” she remarked, repeatingthe Rodese term for  _miracle_ , “what does it mean?”. A light grin tugged at the corner of her lips. (At 14, Rey’s predisposition was still to smile, even on an empty stomach.) 

Unkar’s dark eyes narrowed. He hefted one large, blobby hand to Rey’s scraps, pulled them aside, and exchanged the salvage for one quarter portion of rations. “The impossible,” he answered lowly.

* * *

“Miracles?” General Leia Organa repeats, giving Rey a hard glance. The young woman’s eyes shine, alert and bright—and the force within her burns ferociously.  _This girl is hungry_ ,  the general notes. “No, I don’t believe in miracles.”

Leia takes her husband’s hand and gently squeezes; a quiet moment passes. Then, his index finger applies the faintest bit of pressure, just inside her palm.

She smiles. “But I do believe in Chewie.”

* * *

Doctor Kalonia had already praised the Wookiee several times aloud, applauding his impeccable timing, perfect aiming, “and your luck, Chewbacca,” she marvels once more, tears brimming, “oh, what luck you had.” 

Han Solo had  _survived_. 

This was how it happened: 

Chewbacca shot first. 

The energy bolt from Chewbacca’s bowcaster ripped across the chasm of Starkiller Base’s reactor and ( _Miracles_ ,  Rey later observes,  _this_ _is where they’d first begun_ —)  struck Kylo Ren’s outstretched arm * _just*_ as he’d activated his lightsaber. Its red plasma surged (Rey had screamed, unable to clearly see if the weapon had run through its target—) and Han staggered backward, clutching his right side. Kylo reeled; his lightsaber fell, clipping the edge of the narrow platform below with a loud, metallic CLANG; it tumbled end over end into the chasm below, then became suspended, suddenly, by a rushing surge of the force. It zipped back up the chasm, up and over the platform, but by the time Kylo’s fingers curled back around the weapon’s ragged hilt, ready to strike,

Han Solo had escaped with his life.

* * *

Rey would rather not revisit what followed. Not now. 

( _The frantic escape; being thrown so far and fast by the force, the sickening CRACK that lit her body up like a lightning rod; waking up to Finn—sweet Finn—bleeding out in the snow;_

_facing that monster;_

_summoning Luke’s lightsaber_ —)

Rey flinches, suddenly sick to her stomach.  _Not now_. 

* * *

In the week that passes, Rey spends most of her time at Finn’s bedside. She ignores the frantic bustling of D’qar’s rebel base and tries to focus on just a few calming things: the dim, yellow glow of the medbay’s overhead lights. Her feet planted firmly on the ground. Finn’s steady breathing. She reaches to him quietly in the force—reluctant to disturb him, but wishing so desperately that he would wake. 

Sometimes, she swears she can feel Finn _reach back_. Like  whispers. Like  nudges. It would be so easy to miss them amid the base’s organized chaos—if Rey weren’t paying attention, his replies would flow past her.

But she _was_ paying attention. So his replies flow  _through_ her. And each time they do, she grabs his hand and says, “I hear you.”

Poe Dameron (pilot, serious brow, soft smile) visits Finn often, nearly as often as Rey. He warms to Rey immediately, eager to hear all of her stories and thoughts since departing Jakku. They usually talk about Finn. (“That’s my jacket,” Poe says lightly. Rey smiles: “I know,” adding: “He’s good.” Poe nods, also smiling: “I know.”)

* * *

One day, while taking another meal to the medbay—(crowds, Rey decides, will never be her  _thing_.  Yes, the cafeteria is delightfully sand-free, and Resistance fighters like  _jokes_ , whereas Nima Outpost’s scavengers prefer  _stealing your personal belongings_ —but no, thank you, she’s fine with dining on her own), Rey mentally adds something else to her list of calming things to focus on: Han Solo. Or at least, Han Solo on a good day.

A few of Han’s ribs had taken the brunt of Kylo Ren’s blade ( _Ben_ ,  Rey remembers, frowning.  _He called him Ben_ _)_ , and the blood loss was not insignificant.

(Neither was the strength, speed, and bravery of a raging Wookiee.)

After a few days in the bacta tanks, Han takes up a space across the hall from Finn in the medbay. He’s just barely visible through his quarters’ entryway, but very easy to hear, especially when arguing with Chewie or Doctor Kalonia over his health. Every so often Rey glances up from her nook at Finn’s bedside and sees Han fast asleep. Other times (the times she liked), she’d see him shaking his head and laughing, with General Leia sitting at the edge of his bed. And once, over dinnertime, Han catches Rey staring, so she quickly looks down to her plate and stuffs her face with protein bars.

(Finn reaches out to her then—it feels like he’s poking fun.  _Shut up_ ,  she reaches back, gently elbowing his arm.)

* * *

About two weeks after the destruction of Starkiller Base, Han Solo is healthy enough to walk again (“ _Short distances_ , ” Chewie reminds him, ruffling Han’s hair), 

and BeeBee-Ate wakes up Artoo.

* * *

Rey learns later that day that they’ve completed the map that leads to Luke Skywalker. 

She’s rushed out of the medbay and talked _over_ and _at_ and  _to_ ( _a_ _gain with the_ _crowds_ —), and eyes are all over her (hopeful eyes, anxious eyes,  _too many eyes_ ), and the force is ringing in her ears.

In a rush, it’s all laid out before her:

You will go to Ahch-To. You will find Luke Skywalker. You will bring him home to the Resistance. 

“If you so choose,” Leia adds after a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a softness: “Rey.”

Rey blinks. 

_If I so choose._

_When have I ever had a choice in life?_

In the back of the crowded room, someone adjusts their position, catching Rey’s eye. She squints, peering through shadows and dust, and meets the figure’s gaze: Han Solo watches her intently, arms crossed, halfway out the door. 

Rey’s eyes widen. 

_If I so choose._

* * *

“That word,” young Rey remarked, repeatingthe Rodese term for  _miracle_ , “what does it mean?” A light grin tugged at the corner of her lips.

“The impossible,” Unkar Plutt answered lowly, pushing a quarter-portion of rations across the trading counter.

But 14-year-old Rey’s smile did not waver. In fact, it grew. She grabbed the portions and ran, skipping and bounding over the orange sand, and shouted back over her shoulder:

“I RATHER LIKE MY ODDS—” 

—and then Rey ran the entire way home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No, Poe Dameron doesn’t believe in miracles. 
> 
> But he does believe in people. People like General Organa, like Snap, and Jess,
> 
> and certainly people like Finn. 
> 
> (Once again, Poe remembers that he’s really here right now. He’s ALIVE. He wakes up every day and drinks caf over breakfast. He suffers through dull mission briefings, plays guessing games with BB-8, sleeps in an awfully lumpy, wonderful cot, and fights for peace in the galaxy—all because Finn found him. But no,
> 
> Poe still doesn’t believe in miracles. Not really.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 of Rey, Running! Can Rey outrun fate and the legend she's meant to be? She's hoping to test that theory in this chapter! Hope you guys enjoy. :)

Poe was 8, and he was pleading.

He kneeled before the glowing tree in his front yard—a force-sensitive tree, like the ones that used to grow in ancient Jedi temples. This one had been gifted to his family by Luke Skywalker himself, and now Poe was kneeling before it, and he was _pleading_. His clasped hands were pressed so firmly to his forehead that his arms began to ache from the pressure, but he pressed harder and harder still, whispering,

“Please, please, _please_ —”, with each ‘please’ he pressed harder—“ _please don’t take her away_.”

And the tree glowed faintly with a pulsing pale blue.

Poe’s mother, Shara Bey, died that morning.

* * *

No, Poe Dameron doesn’t believe in miracles.

But he does believe in people. People like General Organa, like Snap, and Jess,

and certainly people like Finn.

(Once again, Poe remembers that he’s really _here_ right now. He’s ALIVE. He wakes up every day and drinks caf over breakfast. He suffers through dull mission briefings, plays guessing games with BB-8, sleeps in an awfully lumpy, _wonderful_ cot, and fights for peace in the galaxy—all because Finn found him. But no,

Poe still doesn’t believe in miracles. Not really.)

He sighs deeply, suddenly aware of the strain in his neck; Poe had been hunched over his X-wing’s engine for a few hours now, performing trivial, mindless maintenance. (“He’d be sad, you know, seeing you mope like this,” Doctor Kalonia had chided. Poe shook his head: “I make you sad, Doc?” She laughed: “It’s depressing, frankly.”)

 _So killing time’s just another gift you’ve given me_ , Poe’s thinking, when BeeBee-Ate’s frantic beeping suddenly pierces through the din of the base hangar.

“REY! Needs HELP! URGENT MISSION,” the droid bleats as it weaves through pilots and ships and droids, “URGENT! MISSION! POE!”

“Urgent mission—?” Poe hops down from his X-wing and meets BB-8 halfway. He brushes his hair out of his eyes, smearing dark grease all along his brow. “Is Rey ok?” asks Poe.

“REY needs HELP,” BeeBee-Ate repeats, adding, “MISSION OBJECTIVE: FINN.”

And now Poe’s bounding out of the hangar, with BeeBee-Ate rolling close behind, pleading out into the force,

_Please don't take him, too._

* * *

Finn’s home.

Or rather, Finn’s in the place he’d always imagined as home.

When he was a young Trooper, every waking hour was the worst Finn had ever lived through, until the next hour came and proved the last hour to be a gift. He’d train and sweat and work and serve and hustle and burn and _endure_ above all else, and then he’d crash into his sleeping cot every night, certain that THIS would be the time his body gives out on him. Surely it couldn’t take any more pain. But it could, because then he’d dream of home.

 _Home_.

It had skylights. Rays of clean light would pour through the kitchen, onto beds and floors, casting everything in a glow that felt like… _springtime_ , Finn guessed. _This is definitely what springtime would feel like._

Toys were always strewn across the floor in these dreams, and Finn would sense that he wasn’t alone. His family was here—maybe sitting in another room, or outside, or just up the stairs. He’d follow the _thump-thump-thumping_ of their footsteps, and though he never found them, he knew that they were there. He’d smile. _This is where my family lives. Where I live—_

Then he’d wake up, alone, surrounded by hundreds of other lonely, dreaming Troopers, and Finn would remember all over again: _I never knew my family, never knew my home. And yes, I can endure so much more pain._

Those restless nights in the First Order barracks feel hazy, now; when Finn tries to summon the memories, they rush up from a well deep within him, but fade into whispers once they break the surface.

Maybe he really _is_ home this time. He hasn’t woken up yet, hasn’t had to say goodbye. Maybe he could actually stay here for good, and follow the _thump-thump-thumping_ of his family’s footsteps to wherever they end.

That might be nice.

* * *

Every time Finn tries to settle deeper into home’s soft embrace, Rey starts knocking on the door. 

It’s happened several times already—Finn hears the knocking (soft, gentle raps), and he just _knows_ , somehow, that Rey’s waiting for him to let her in. But by the time he reaches the front door she’s gone, which never really bothers him. _She was just knocking to say ‘hello’_ , Finn thinks, satisfied, but also a little sad. _I hope she visits again soon._ (It feels right, you know. _Rey_ , and _h_ _ome_.)

When Finn hears the knocking today, it’s LOUD. The sound rumbles all throughout the house, and he thinks, _Rey’s going to wake up my family. Rude_. Finn hurries to the door (while Rey’s knocking THUNDERS) and places a hand to its biometric scanner—the door slides open with a WHOOSH,

and Rey’s actually here this time, standing right in the entryway. Rey’s _home_. And she looks… different. ( _Why does she look different? Different from when…?_ )

“Rey! It’s good to see you! Come in,” says Finn, eagerly motioning for her to step inside, but she doesn’t look like she wants to come in at all. ( _Is she alright? Why wouldn’t she be alright…?_ )

“Finn,” she says, and her voice sounds distorted, like she’s both too close to him and far, far away, “you need to wake up.”

Finn winces. Wake up.

 _No, no, if I wake up_ —“I won’t fight for them,” Finn says. Something shifts in the atmosphere around them; his body feels heavy, and his family… Finn’s family isn’t in the house anymore. It’s empty now, save for Finn and Rey.

Rey’s expression softens, and with it, a wave of comfort flows through Finn. She assures him—still sounding too close and too far, “You’re safe, Finn. The First Order can’t hurt you now. But I need you to wake up. The _Resistance_ needs you—“

The Resistance. The shift happens again—and now Finn’s on blasted Jakku feeling so thirsty and spent, and he’s with the Rey he remembers. (Well, she _looks_ like the Rey he remembers from Nima Outpost, wrapped in her sandy bindings, eyes sharp as ever—but she _feels_ like the Rey who tightly embraced him on Starkiller Base. She feels like his dearest friend.)

“I’m… dreaming,” Finn puts together. Feelings of home (skylights, toys strewn, springtime) slowly become lost to him, melting into the heat of the desert. His heart dully aches. “But you’re here. You’re—“ Finn gasps, remembering something—no, _everything_ , and strides to Rey, “You’re ALIVE. You’re here!”

“Finn,” Rey says, and they hug each other tightly; this may be a dream, but Finn can feel how warm and _solid_ Rey is in his arms. This is _real_. He squeezes her even tighter.

“How is this even possible?” Finn asks, his smile digging into Rey’s shoulder.

“I’ve been reaching out to you,” Rey says, her voice small. She pulls back to meet Finn’s eyes. ( _There it is again_ , Finn notes, _that look. Why does Rey look different. Why isn’t she alright._ )

Finn nods. “I know. I could feel it. I tried to find you.”

“And you did, Finn. I felt you answering me. I didn’t want to push you too much, in case…” A darkness passes over Rey’s expression, a darkness Finn can feel in his core. “He really hurt you, Finn. Do you remember?” 

Finn nods again. Echoes of the encounter ring out in the back of his mind; he hears the low, grizzled buzzing of Kylo Ren’s blade; Finn asks, “Did he hurt you, Rey?”, taking her hand.

“No,” she ( _thankfully_ ) answers, lifting her other hand to his cheek. Her thumb brushes at it softly. ( _Rey is like home._ ) “No. Finn, I have so much to tell you.”

She looks away suddenly, up and over Finn’s shoulder, and a smile blooms along her lips… a rather mischievous one, at that. Still looking past Finn, she adds: “We _both_ do. Now, if you could try to do me a favor…”, Rey presses her forehead gently against his own, “…and please get us out of Jakku.”

Finn laughs. “Gladly.”

* * *

Poe had whipped around the corner of the medbay’s entryway and found what initially felt like a familiar sight: Finn, still sleeping and hooked into various tubes and machines, looking less alive than Poe would like. But next to him, Rey was focusing. Really, _really_ focusing: eyes tightly shut, lost in a trance, mirroring a kind of energy Poe'd seen only a handful of times before… in General Organa.

 _The force_ , he realizes. In an attempt to give Rey whatever space she needed for whatever the hell she might be doing, Poe takes a cautious step back—but her head raises ever so slightly, clearly recognizing his presence, and a smile— _Is that mischief?_ Poe wonders—ruptures her even expression.

 _No_ , Poe reckons, already too hopeful for his own good, _No, there’s no way that he’ll—_

Finn wakes up.

Then Finn’s upright. He’s—he’s laughing, even, reaching to Rey for a hug as if he’d just been in casual conversation with her instead of _deep in a coma_ , and he’s looking so very ALIVE,

and Poe’s just gawking, coated in a mix of engine grease and sweat—and blocking a med droid’s path to another patient, apparently. It sqawks at him in binary, breaking Poe’s spellbound staring and catching Finn’s attention. Finn visibly brightens.

“Poe,” Finn breathes.

“Buddy,” Poe says, rushing over to the bed, and the three of them fold into a fierce embrace. They stay like that for a long while, holding each other in the dim, yellow light of the medbay.

(For just a moment, the galaxy is at peace.)

Poe pulls back to get another look at Finn—good Finn, Finn who _found him_ —and he laughs, surprised, maybe a little dazed. “Welcome home,” Poe says softly, and Finn’s eyes widen just a bit at that. _(Maybe a person can be a miracle,_ Poe files away for later.)

Back by the entryway, BeeBee-Ate lets out a cheerful chirp, then rolls in to join the rejoicing trio. The droid gives Finn’s foot a gentle nudge, making him laugh. “Hello BeeBee-Ate,” he says, voice husky, and gives the droid's head a little pat. 

“REY needs HELP,” BeeBee-Ate cheeps, sounding less frazzled than he had in the hangar, “Mission Objective: FINN.”

Poe’s brow furrows in playful protest. “Mission _accomplished_ , right BeeBee?” He looks to Finn again and says (reminding himself, in a way), “Finn’s awake. He’s all better.”

BeeBee-Ate’s head swivels NO. He chirps again, firmer: “Rey needs HELP.”

And Poe lets out another laugh, a little incredulous. “Rey, what’s he going on about?” he asks,

but then Finn's taking Rey’s hand. “What’s wrong, Rey,” Finn says, and Poe notices that Rey looks so anxious, like she might up n' run away from them at any second. For a moment Poe swears she really will. 

Rey looks to BeeBee-Ate, eyes searching, and the little droid nods to her, giving a light whistle in reply. She nods back, a little more sure of herself now, and reaches into the leather satchel slung around her hips. Rey pulls out a lightsaber—Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber—and presents it,

to Finn.

“I’m not going to take this to Luke Skywalker, Finn,” she says lowly. “I think it should be _you_.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far as debilitating anxiety goes, Finn was operating with it at maximum capacity. Today’d been a whirlwind, from Rey force-spelunking through his dreams, to Poe’s pity (there was no other way to explain that sad look in his dark eyes), and worst of all, this stupid suggestion that Finn could possess even an ounce of Rey’s brilliance. Why doesn’t she understand how foolish that sounds? How absurd it would be to pretend that Finn was a legend, while the real one insists she’s anything but?
> 
> But when he sees Rey’s expression turn at the sight of Han Solo—when he feels the shift around her, like the atmosphere is swelling, like it’s hungry—Finn understands. He understands immediately.
> 
> And it doesn’t change his mind about his place in this story—it doesn’t make him feel any more worthy—but Finn knows, now, what he has to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3's up!! Super excited for what's coming next, including some introductions to new POV's: Han's, Leia's, and maybe even Kylo Ren's! We'll really get to play with TLJ's narrative from this chapter forward... as always, hope you guys enjoy! <3

Rey has always been patient. Some things in the world are worth waiting a lifetime for—she was sure of it. More than sure.

 _This_ , though—waiting for Finn to take Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber from her hand, for him to SAY something, to do ANYTHING—this was not one of those things she could simply wait for. The saber just hangs in the space between them, and Finn’s so silent he could very well be comatose again. 

Poe’s clearly cut from the same cloth as Rey, if his knee bouncing with nervous energy isn’t obvious enough; he holds a hand to his mouth, maybe to keep himself from saying something, but then goes ahead and says it anyways: “How about we take this conversation, uh,” he eyes the foot traffic outside the medbay’s entryway, where Resistance members are clearly slowing down to study the base’s star pilot, an ex-Stormtrooper, and the potential Jedi Initiate all huddled on a bed together, “… _outside_. Hm?”

Poe then places a gentle hand on Finn’s shoulder, snapping him out of his stupor. “How’s some fresh air sound, buddy,” Poe adds, smiling warmly. “Think you can manage a walk?”

Finn nods, and Rey’s heart nearly breaks in two, because now Poe’s helping him out of the bed and Finn won’t meet her eyes. She withdraws the lightsaber and puts it back into her satchel, already wondering if the choice she’s making is the wrong one, or worse,

that she’ll never get the chance to make a choice at all. 

* * *

The only climate Rey had ever known was Jakku’s. Its deserts were reliably brutal and unforgiving, and had shaped her into the woman she was today: her deeply ingrained survival instinct, her guarded nature, her resourcefulness... and especially her tendency to _squint_. Years of staring into bitterly bright, never-ending horizons had convinced Rey at a very young age that her eyes might never be able to open fully. (The alternative to looking up and out every day would have been keeping her head down—only focusing on the scraps in her hands, and the hunger in her belly, and the sand underneath her boots.

 _Not_ looking was not an option; so, Rey squinted.) 

She’s squinting now as they exit the base—for the first time in weeks, Rey realizes. She’d never left Finn’s side indoors, save for food and the fresher. _This is new_ , she thinks, denoting the weather, because the light outside isn’t coming from a blazing sun, OR a huge moon and swaths of stars; instead, this weather is somewhere… in-between. Thick gray clouds clog up the sky, more clouds than Rey’d ever seen before. It’s still bright, though. And she rather likes it. 

Poe leads them onto a path that curves out and away from the busy base. D’qar’s terrain is green and hilly—and Finn assures them several times that he’s fine, _really_ , he can do this, as they navigate a few steep-ish slopes. Other than Poe’s periodic mother-henning over Finn and Finn’s stubborn refusals for help of any kind, the three of them walk (while BeeBee-Ate rolls) in silence until arriving at a nearby lake. It’s beautiful and quiet, the Resistance base’s commotions in the distance rendered to a gentle hum. 

Finn speaks up, finally. “So the map…” he starts, arms crossed. “It’s complete.” He’s trying to radiate cool, calm, collected, but Rey knows the truth. 

Poe nods, “BeeBee woke up Luke Skywalker’s retired astromech, Artoo—“

BeeBee-Ate blurts proudly: “AFFIRMATIVE!”

“—who’d been holding the rest of the map right under our noses, apparently,” Poe finishes. 

“He’s on a remote planet,” Rey adds. “Ahch-To.” 

And then Finn meets her eyes, and something deeply surprises her; where Rey would expect to feel cold and familiar rejection, she instead senses gentleness—it radiates out of Finn as if he were the sun, and Rey realizes,

he was _reaching_ to her again, in the force. Unintentionally, perhaps, but reaching all the same. _What does he see?_ , Rey wonders, just as Finn says: “You won’t go.” 

“I don’t think… I’m the right person for this mission,” Rey tries to explain.

Finn’s gentleness fades, quickly traded for outright astonishment. “And you think ‘that person’ is me,” Finn says, finger pointed at his ( _rather o_ _verstated_ , Rey thinks) shocked expression, “the First Order flunk.” He scoffs. ( _Overstated, again._ ) 

Poe beats her to it: “That’s not true,” he says, voice raised. “You’re not one of them, you never were.”

“…Debatable,” Finn replies, though his expression tempers (while Poe, meanwhile, appears pretty eager to debate). Raising his hands defensively, Finn adds, “I just don’t follow. He’s a Jedi, Rey, and you’re— _you_. You’re like him,” he takes a step to Rey in earnest, “already better, I think. And I’m…” 

“With the Resistance,” Rey says.

“A _hero_ ,” adds Poe.

BeeBee-Ate whistles: “AFFIRMATIVE.”

“You’re _good_ , Finn,” Rey continues, lighting up inside. She takes Finn’s hands, “You’re good, and you are strong in the force. I can feel it. Luke Skywalker will feel it too,” and then her excitement grows steadily, “he can TRAIN you if you go to him, I know he will, and—“

“Wait a second, wait a second,“ Finn releases himself from Rey’s hold, “I’m… _what?”_

Rey lets out an exasperated breath. “Finn, I told you, you’ve been… reaching to me. I sense—“, she hesitates. Talking about the force is still such strange territory for her; Rey had been so desperate to escape its grasp on Takodana, wishing she could wake up from the force as if it were a bad dream. But now the force was waking within her, day by day, hour by hour—impossible to ignore, or outrun. “I sense it moving through you. No, It’s more than that—“

“Rey,” Finn says darkly, shaking his head. “You’re wrong.”

“No, listen to me, Finn,” Rey pulls out the saber from her satchel once more and holds it out, pleading, “It should be _you,_ I can feel it,” and she pours into the force, into him, hoping to further prove her point, “this is how it’s supposed to be—"

but Finn denies her: “You’re _wrong_ Rey, I’m not—“ and he winces, pained, then motions quickly to Poe for support. Rey gasps, immediately retracting her reach, and the force withdraws from the space around them so quickly that it almost makes her short of breath. 

In a quick stride Poe’s there, steadying Finn, carefully avoiding the area where he’d been struck by Kylo Ren. “You alright, buddy?” Poe asks softly, eyes warily darting to Rey. (It’s just a look, but it wounds her.)

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” Finn assures them, his voice clearly strained. “Just my back.” He exhales shortly. 

“Finn, I’m sorry,” Rey whispers, eyes welling, and that feeling’s back again—the desperate wish to wake up from a bad dream. 

“No, really, Rey. Please. I’m fine,” Finn says, and he looks to her, and _blast it,_ he still doesn’t know that he’s _reaching_ even now, “I promise. Just… tell me why.”

Rey steels herself against the tears threatening to pour down her face. “I told you,” she hates this, she sounds like a small child, like the girl left behind on Jakku all those years ago, “I sense the force in you, Finn.”  
  
“No, Rey,” Finn says. “Tell me why you don’t want to go.”

Before Rey can think to answer, a voice interrupts them from behind—in Wookieespeak, no less. 

_“Found them,”_ Chewbacca calls, cresting the slope above the lakeside. Han Solo appears, just steps behind, and not for the first time that day, or even the second or third, Rey feels like running. 

“Doc sent us on a rescue mission—apparently her favorite patient’s gone missing,” Han says dryly, eyeing Finn propped up by Poe’s arms. 

_“Kidnapped, more like,”_ Chewbacca barks. 

And BeeBee-Ate chirps: “AFFIRMATIVE!” 

* * *

As far as debilitating anxiety goes, Finn was operating with it at maximum capacity. Today’d been a whirlwind, from Rey force-spelunking through his dreams, to Poe’s pity (there was no other way to explain that sad look in his dark eyes), and worst of all, this stupid suggestion that Finn could possess even an _ounce_ of Rey’s brilliance. Why doesn’t she understand how foolish that sounds? How absurd it would be to pretend that Finn was a legend, while the real one insists she’s anything but?

But when he sees Rey’s expression turn at the sight of Han Solo—when he feels the _shift_ around her, like the atmosphere is swelling, like it’s _hungry_ —Finn understands. He understands immediately.

And it doesn’t change his mind about his place in this story—it doesn’t make him feel any more worthy—but Finn _knows,_ now, what he has to do.

* * *

“So what’s this all about,” Han says to everyone—but really, it’s just for Rey.

The breeze picks up, sending crisp folds of waves down the silver lake; Rey’s arms prickle with goosebumps.

She breathes in— _I have a choice_ —she breathes out. _I choose…_

“I'm going to take you up on that job offer,” Rey says, trying to sound unbreakable. 

Han lets out a heavy sigh, crossing his arms. He considers his words carefully: “The circumstances have changed.”

 _Unbreakable, unbreakable_ —“You don’t… need my help anymore?” Rey says, her hands balling into fists; her nails dig into her skin, _unbreakable_. 

“Not for me, kid,” Han says. “For you.” 

And she’s breaking.

“Listen, Rey, there’s no question about it,” Han takes a step to her, throws a look at Chewbacca, “the Falcon, me and Chewie… we’d all benefit from having you aboard. You’re trouble.” His lips curl into a lop-sided smile. “The good kind.” And Rey’s breaking _still_. Han’s voice is low, but kind: “But maybe the galaxy needs you just a little more than we do.” 

_The galaxy needs me._

For 19 years, Rey had never been needed by anything. Not even once. The desert didn’t need her. Unkar Plutt didn’t need her. He favored her for her scavenging skills, even kept her protected from Nima Outpost’s seediest characters—but she was no better than scrap to him. Shiny scrap, useful scrap. But not scrap that he _needed_. 

Han was right; circumstances had changed for Rey. But not in the way he thought they had.

Her chin trembles when she speaks again: “Will you still have me.” 

She doesn’t meet his eyes; when Han doesn’t reply, she continues, “I’m a hard worker, and I don’t need much pay. I’m not very chatty, I keep to myself, and if you hire me I _promise_ you won’t regret it.” Rey meets his eyes again, and she musters every drop of courage within her. “Please.” 

Han’s brow furrows at this, and he thinks for a long moment, bringing a hand to the back of his neck; he stares out to the lake. (Rey’s always been patient. She’ll wait. She’ll wait.) “I can’t teach you, y'know,” he says gruffly. “All that Jedi stuff.” 

Rey’s breath catches, and she swallows hard. “I won’t need a teacher for all that,” she says, and then, determined: “I don’t want to be taught.” 

His brow arcs at that, and they all wait once more—Han, and Chewbacca, BeeBee-Ate, Poe, and Finn, and Rey, of course, because she was always, _always_ waiting.

“Chewie,” Han finally says, glancing over his shoulder to the Wookiee, “how’s this all sound to you.” 

_“Don’t tease her, Han,”_ Chewbacca replies, tossing his head back. _“Of course I’m alright with it.”_

Rey’s eyes slowly widen. She looks to Chewbacca, to Finn and Poe and BeeBee, and then back to Han, mouth agape. “You’re offering me the job…?” she says, goosebumps prickling.

Han’s face is mock-serious, but Rey senses warmth fanning out in the force around him—warmth, and something mournful, too. Regardless, he holds an arm out, offering his hand. “Welcome aboard, Rey.” 

_Miracles._

The smile that dawns on Rey’s face has to be so pure, so bright, that the sun itself _squints_ to shield itself from her joy. 

She takes Han’s hand and shakes it, while shaking her head in near disbelief. “You won’t regret this,” Rey repeats, and she quickly wipes her eyes with the back of her free hand, having only just noticed the tears brimming there.

“I know,” Han says, and again: the warmth mixed with mourning—the _something in-between_. He straightens a bit, crossing his arms. “Well—we better go tell Leia,” he says, and then, to himself: “She won’t take it to Luke—not in a long shot.” 

Rey nods, because of course, “The Resistance needs her here; she can’t leave now.” 

“The Resistance needs all of us, Rey,” Han replies. “It won’t just be up to me, or to _you_ ,” he grins a bit, “or to Leia. Though I’m pretty sure my wife would give an arm and a leg for a quiet vacation to the Unknown Regions.” He sighs. “It’s the lightsaber, I think. She doesn't want anything to do with it.” 

“That’s fine,” Finn cuts in, stepping out of Poe’s hold. “Because I’m taking it for her.” He’s cool, calm, collected—and it’s the truth, this time. Rey’s heart aches. _Good Finn._

“ _You’re_ taking it?” Han balks. 

Finn’s determination doesn’t wane. “Mm-hmm. Right, Rey?"

She doesn't miss a beat: "Right."

Han chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re turning out to be a bigger deal than you’d bargained for,” he says, surprised, but still good-humored. 

“You’ll need a pilot,” Poe chimes in, and Finn’s serious expression gives way to a knowing smile.

“I’ll need a pilot,” Finn agrees.

BeeBee-Ate rolls up to Rey, nudging her knee gently with its head. “Rey? Complete OBJECTIVE?” BeeBee chirps.

Rey nods, and pulls Luke’s lightsaber once more from the satchel slung around her hips. She gives it one hard, last look; her own face stares back at her, a reflection framed by overcast clouds in the saber’s shiny, metallic hilt. She breathes in deeply, the force swelling, 

and extends the lightsaber to Finn. 

Their eyes meet. He nods to her, and Rey’s heart soars, and the force SURGES, because Finn _takes_ it. He studies the saber in his hand, and Rey feels exactly what Finn is thinking: 

_There’s no coming back from this_.

“So… we’re doing this?” Poe asks, eyes wide.

“We’re doing this,” Finn answers.

Rey whispers, “Thank you,” and Finn hugs her fiercely in reply. When Rey pulls back from the embrace, she eyes BeeBee-Ate, whose ocular lenses are fixed upon her, expectant. Kneeling to him, she says, “And thank you, BeeBee-Ate, for helping me. Mission accomplished.” 

And BeeBee-Ate whistles. “AFFIRMATIVE, Mission Objective: FINN, COMPLETE.”

When Rey stands, she feels lighter. 

_No more waiting_ , she thinks. The breeze blows coolly against her skin.

_Time to run._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo wishes for sleep. For pain, even; he force-flings the med droids across the room and lets his wounds seep, sinking into the comforting burn that settles around his freshly slashed ribs and arm and face. But the pain can’t distract him, not nearly enough. Just as the med droids inevitably return to his side, bound by their programming, Kylo returns to an inescapable truth within himself:
> 
> He is split. Torn in two. In-between. (Something inside him whispers: a mistake.)
> 
> And although Kylo Ren is to complete his training, he knows there is no coming back from this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4, up and running!! So amped to dig into the Kylo portion of this story. Hope you guys enjoy. <3

_Miracle_.

No, Han Solo wasn’t spared by some sort of miracle. This isn’t that kind of story. It’s not a matter of light defeating darkness, or love prevailing over hate. No, no,

it was a _mistake_ that saved Han Solo’s life on Starkiller Base. 

Kylo Ren’s mistake.

One he would pay dearly for.

* * *

Leia had felt it: the _exact_ moment Ben nearly killed his own father.

It was like a sharp gasp within the force; the attack rang throughout the galaxy—through its many systems and all their stars, and then the systems and their stars and Leia all trembled at the stark possibility Ben had almost created: 

a galaxy bereft of Han Solo.

The grief that flowed through her was immediate and overpowering, and more than that, it was familiar; this kind of grief had nearly drowned her once before, when she witnessed the destruction of her home planet, Alderaan.

And another cry rang out into the force—a lonely, wretched howl, one Leia could’ve sworn came from her own heart. But when she felt _deeper_ , and reached _further_ , she was rendered speechless by its true source:

this cry in the force came from her son. 

And within Leia, an idea took root; where she had dared not hope,

a new hope was born.

* * *

Kylo keeps to his personal quarters aboard Snoke’s ship after the destruction of Starkiller Base; med droids tend to his wounds, and he complies listlessly. The dark hours blend into days.

 _I am to complete my training._

He wishes for sleep. For _pain_ , even; he force-flings the med droids across the room and lets his wounds seep, sinking into the comforting burn that settles around his freshly slashed ribs and arm and face. But the pain can’t distract him, not nearly enough. Just as the med droids inevitably return to his side, bound by their programming, Kylo returns to an inescapable truth within himself:

He is split. Torn in two. In-between. (Something inside him whispers: _a mistake_.)

And although Kylo Ren is to complete his training, he knows there is no coming back from this.

(When he closes his eyes, his father’s imploring eyes stare back at him through the darkness. No,

no sleep.) 

* * *

Doctor Kalonia lets out a sigh of relief as Finn approaches the medbay with Commander Dameron and friends in tow. “Finn, thank _goodness_ ,” she says with a smile, and then to Han Solo a few paces behind them, “thank you for rescuing my patient, Han.”  
  
“Don’t thank me yet,” Han grumbles, and the group files past her one by one. Chewbacca gives her a polite nod as he passes; Rey and Finn awkwardly follow his example, nodding sweetly while obviously attempting to avoid her gaze. 

“But we need to run tests,” Doctor Kalonia tries, gesturing to Finn, “you’re in no shape to be walking around like this—“

“I’ll get him back in one piece, Doc,” Commander Dameron assures her, flashing that winning smile he relies on far too often; he hustles ahead to join Rey and Finn down the hall. (There’s simply no use trying when it comes to the younger ones. Their hearts are so big, and they’re so, _so_ willing.) 

BeeBee-Ate is the last to roll past her; his head swivels about face, and he bleats something about “kidnapping” and “FUN” before turning down another hallway and disappearing into the base. 

Doctor Kalonia leans against the medbay’s dilapidated stone walls, resting her chin on her fist. She shakes her head ruefully, unable to keep herself from smiling. “Fun, hm?” She sighs. “That can’t be good at all.” 

* * *

Leia sits in one of the base’s control rooms, mug of hot caf in hand, and catches up on various holos from Resistance allies across the systems. These allies are all friends of Leia’s, in one way or another, and their messages all contain the same questions:

_How are you fairing?_

_Is your husband well?_

And most importantly, 

_What’s next?_

Her caf grows cold. She contemplates. Yes, _what next._

Leia senses a shift; she looks up from her current holo to the group now occupying the control room’s entryway. Her eyes fall upon them one by one, gaze lingering on Rey—Rey, who’s looking taller since Leia last saw her, steadier, too, and Finn—the First Order defect turned Resistance hero, whom Commander Dameron so obviously admires. “Mr. Big Deal,” Han had called him. Leia’s eyes clock the lightsaber in Finn’s hands. Luke’s lightsaber.

Her eyebrows raise, amused. She takes a sip of her cold caf. Even the force, of all things, has a sense of humor. 

“So,” Leia says, setting her mug onto a nearby table with a CLINK, “I take it you’ve made your choice.” She claps her hands together. “What’s next.” 

* * *

“She has your eyes,” Leia remarks.

 _“Hm?”_ Han mumbles, mouth full of spiceloaf. 

After hearing out Rey’s proposal for Finn and Poe to take on the mission to Ahch-To in her stead, Leia had immediately dismissed them all to dinner without anything to add; Han frowned at the way Rey’s shoulders drooped in reply, clearly disappointed (or rather, clearly certain that _she_ was the disappointment). Han went and grabbed food from the mess hall—a couple plates worth of loaves and fruit—and brought it back to Leia’s quarters. They sit hip to hip on her bed made for one, food settled casually in their laps, and it reminds Han of how they’d eaten their meals on the Falcon all those years ago. 

“You’re getting crumbs everywhere,” Leia mutters, leaning over him and brushing at the bedsheets. She leans back again and rests her chin on his shoulder, her big brown eyes studying his own. “She looks the way you did, when I first met you… the way you still do,” she elaborates softly. 

Han swallows his spiceloaf. “In over her head?” 

“Hopeful,” Leia says. “Desperately hopeful.” 

Han takes pause, giving Leia a hard look. Rather than challenge her— _Women always figure out the truth, always_ —he sighs, tearing off another chunk of spiceloaf. “What’s your take on all this?” Han asks. “You’ve been quiet, Leia,” his words muffled through mouthfuls of loaf, “don’t think I haven’t noticed.” 

Her smile is small and wry as she reaches for the last piece of spiceloaf on Han’s plate. “You mean to tell me you actually _miss_ my big mouth?” Leia quips, chomping on her bite of loaf in a decidedly un-dignified manner. 

“Far from it, sweetheart,” Han says, leering down at her playfully. (If this were any old day, he’d heckle her some more, but Han was so tired; he’d walked too far and too fast, and now his side was aching.) He kisses the top of her head, nudging her gray braids slightly askew, and adds softly, “Just tell me what’s on your mind.” 

Leia nods, still too quiet, and leans back against the wall. She stares up at the ceiling for a while, her mind far, far away from Han, in places he knows he can’t follow. “Well. I’m loathe to send Poe away for too long,” she says, eyes still up and out. “It’s risky. He’s my best pilot, and the First Order will undoubtedly strike again, soon. _But,”_ a sly grin breaks out along her lips, “he’s pretty smitten with our newest recruit, and stubborn as all get-out. There’ll be no convincing him. And besides that, I _trust_ Poe. If he trusts Finn…” Leia’s eyes soften. “I know they’ll bring Luke home.”

Han’s brow furrows. “And Rey.”

“What about Rey.” Leia looks to him again.

“I wanna know that she’s…” Han struggles to find the words. “I just want to make sure she’s following the right path.” He’d never admit to it aloud, but Han was afraid for Rey—deeply afraid.

Leia considers this. “The force is remarkably strong in that girl. And she’s beginning to sense it,” her eyes are far away again, “the true potential she carries. We can’t know what’s right for Rey, or choose her path for her.” She weaves her fingers into Han’s. “You and I probably know that better than anyone.” 

He winces. Knowing it didn’t make things any better. Han squeezes Leia’s hand, and they sit in silence for a while longer. 

_(“Stay awake,” he’d heard Chewie urge back on Starkiller Base, while Han stared up to the stars. He couldn’t feel much, save for icy flecks of snow sticking to his cheeks. And the stars were starting to blur all around their edges, and Han was sinking, and while he sank, he didn’t think about the stories—_

_stories of thrilling chases, and narrow escapes, and debts repaid, and shots fired._

_He didn’t think about the Kessel Run, or the Death Star. He didn’t even think about the Falcon. No,_

_it was the stolen moments,_

_like holding Ben in his arms for the first time,_

_and sitting hip to hip with Leia in a bed made for one, fingers interlaced,_

_that he thought of._ _Those stolen moments—this in-between space in his heart he’d had no idea existed—this was why life was worth living.)_

“No use being scared for her Han,” Leia says, pulling him back to the present. She gives his arm an assuring squeeze. “She’s in good hands.” _(Women always figure out the truth.)_

Han shoots her a crooked grin. “So am I. Kid’s a natural. Chewie likes her, too.” 

But as Leia takes their dishes aside and gets up from the bed, Han recognizes that he isn’t really with _his_ Leia anymore. Now he was with the General. And while General Organa slides on her boots and readjusts her loose braids, Han, deep down, bids farewell to his princess. _’Til the next stolen moment._

“What’re you thinking,” Han asks, and with a hand on the bed’s headboard to steady himself, he stands. 

“The plan. What’s next.” And Leia nods seriously, thinking aloud, “I have a feeling about this. A good feeling.” She presses a hand to the bedroom door’s biometric scanner, and it opens with a WHOOSH. “Briefing in 10, back in the control room. Grab ‘em for me, will you?” Leia asks, motioning out into the hallway with a light bob of her head. 

“Right away, your highness,” Han says with a wink, and as easily as ever, he waltzes right out the door. (But really, is it ever easy?) 

* * *

Leia takes a moment in her quarters to watch Han leave. It never gets easier, watching him go, especially now—knowing what he doesn’t know. She could never keep a secret from Han for long, but she reminds herself:

_I have a feeling about this._

_A good feeling._

_This galaxy will finally know peace._

Leia takes a deep breath, then steps out the door, head held high. 

_Commander Dameron and Finn will bring home my brother,_

_and I am going to bring home my son._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Force indeed works in mysterious ways,
> 
> because it somehow guided me to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO, another chapter down! This one ended up being a little bit longer than I'd planned, but I got caught up in the fun of Leia laying out the trio's new adventure. (Shout-out to any Holdo lovers out there, this chapter's for you, too! :) I'm excited to play with her role in this new version of TLJ's events.)
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy, and thank you so much for the comments and kudos! <3

Rey was nine, and she was on a mission.

“Classified?” she said, her little voice echoing within the hollow compartments of her home, a collapsed AT-AT. “Well, you can trust me. I’m quite good at keeping secrets.”

Rey picked up her helmet—it had once belonged to a real starfighter pilot, and had already joined Rey on countless thrilling missions (most of which involved heroically blowing up the Death Star)—and tipped it upside down, shaking out all the orange sand that had collected within it. She nodded to her imaginary commander while emptying the helmet: “Mm-hm. Rescue mission. Location… Jakku. Danger levels: very, very dangerous. _Lots_ of danger. Understood.”

After a final shake of the helmet, she placed it atop her head; it dipped forward, still far too big and heavy for young Rey, but with a free hand she steadied it so that her eyes could peer through its cloudy yellow visor. “I assure you, commander, I’m up to the challenge,” Rey said confidently, giving a small salute; and the helmet dipped forward, so she steadied it again. 

She exited the AT-AT, one hand balancing the flight helmet on her head, the other extended out like an X-wing’s S-Foil. “Shields up!” she shouted, beginning a sprint into the sand. “Punch it!” Rey picked up her speed and looped around the AT-AT, all the while calling out orders to her imaginary squadron. 

“Be on the look-out,” Rey yelled, her breath growing shallower the further she sprinted, “our target is small! She’ll be hard to see through all this sand!” 

Rey jumped over a sand dune and skidded down its slope. She quickly kicked the sand loose from her boots and continued to sprint about the drifts.

She whipped her head up suddenly, rocking and wobbling her fighter helmet about, but Rey tugged it back down, determined. “What’s that Red Leader?” she asked, eyes scanning the desert. “Enemy fire?” 

Rey whipped her head around again and gasped, ducking under the attacks from an invisible assailant. “They’re on my tail!” Rey frantically cried, weaving long curves throughout the sand. With a huge leap, Rey twisted and tumbled down another dune, rolling to a halt at its base. 

“I think I lost them,” she said with a loud sigh of relief, and then, peering hard through her helmet’s visor, “and I think I found our target!”

Sticking out slightly from a nearby mound of sand was a crudely made doll; its faded orange fabric, scrapped from an old flight suit Rey’d recovered during one of her first scavenges, gently flapped in the desert breeze. Rey pulled the doll from its sandy embankment and cradled it into her arms. She gave it a sweet smile; her cheeks were glowing, rosy from Jakku’s glaring afternoon sun. “What’s your name,” she asked, cocking her ear towards the doll, as if to catch its shy whispers. “Rey?” 

Rey then pulled the helmet up and off her head; it landed in the sand beside her with a THUMP. She held the doll high, and triumphantly announced, “Rey, I’m here to bring you home.”

_Mission accomplished._

* * *

“Rey?” Finn asks. 

Rey blinks, snapping to the present: Dinner, mess hall. The droning buzz of Resistance small talk washes over her, and she shrinks a bit; crowds somehow make the loneliness within her so loud. She leans just barely into Finn on her right, and he just barely leans back in response, grounding her. 

“You hungry, buddy?” Poe says, tapping her untouched cafeteria tray with his spoon. His voice is warm: “It’s been a long day, Rey. Have some dinner.” 

The answer is yes—she was almost always hungry. But tonight, everything feels suspended, like her hunger and the force and all the stars in the galaxy were holding their breath, waiting, 

and _waiting_ ,

just like before. 

“Please,” Poe tries again, leaning forward to meet Rey’s lowered gaze. 

After a moment, Rey nods, and Poe smiles—all toothy and proud—so Rey smiles, too. She lifts a spoonful of chowder to her lips and slurps, and Rey’s instantly reminded of how impossibly delicious everything is compared to the rations she’d survived on all her life; she ditches the spoon and drinks right from her bowl, drawing a laugh from Poe. 

Rey swallows a big gulp of chowder and exhales hard. “It’s good,” she says lightly, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. 

Poe nods. “Good. I’m glad.” His brow furrows. “It’s gonna be okay, Rey,” he adds.

Her stomach drops a bit—maybe the food wasn’t a great idea after all. Finn’s hand gently wraps around her own in response. (Is it so plainly obvious, how _untethered_ she feels? It’s like the whole galaxy can read right through her.) 

Rey lowers her voice. “I’ve disappointed her. I’ve disappointed the Resistance,” she says, the words almost disappearing within her own whisper. But Poe shakes his head.

“Couldn’t be further from the truth,” he says with an easy shrug. “Trust me,” Poe leans to her again, his tone almost sly, “I know what that looks like, a little _too_ well. She’s not disappointed in you. Not in the slightest.” 

“You’re your own person, Rey,” Finn says, expression firm. He squeezes her hand. “This is your life. Not their’s.” Rey feels a sadness churning deep within her dear friend.

“And you heard Han,” Poe adds, “you got the job. Honestly, you’re the last person anybody ‘round here should be worrying about.” 

Finn laughs darkly. “Yeah. If that honor belongs to anybody, it’s the local Stormtrooper.” 

“ _Finn,_ ” Rey says, shooting a fierce glance to an ogling officer nearby. 

“Eh, not too worried about you either,” Poe remarks, his tense expression not quite matching the casual air he was trying to carry, “y’know, since I’m kind of your ride to Ahch-To and all.”

“If I’m—“ Finn catches himself; more eyes were drifting over to their little corner of the mess hall, and conversations conspicuously lulled. He tries again, voice hushed: “If I’m still going to Ahch-To _at all._ You’re the best pilot the Resistance has—“

“Thank you, you’re too kind,” Poe quips, bowing his head in jest with a light twirl of his spoon.

Finn frowns, and continues: “—and I was the face of the thing you’re all fighting. Why the hell should anybody here trust me? LEAST of all General Organa.” (This hurts Rey, but she doesn’t let her hurt flow through Finn, bottling it up quickly and burying it deep down.)

“Is that a serious question?” Poe asks, and this time the toothy smile is challenging. Fiery.

“Yes, give me one good reason.” 

Unflinching, Rey and Poe answer in unison, their frustration ringing out in perfect harmony: _“I trust you.”_

A silence falls over the mess hall. Finn simply doesn’t have anything to say at that; he pulls back as though they’d drawn blasters on him, wide-eyed disbelief plastered clearly upon his face. When Rey and Poe’s eyes meet, Poe’s the first to crack; he bites his lip in a doomed effort to keep his cheeky grin at bay, and Rey just laughs, and she laughs at how hard she’s laughing—it was so strange and surprising and WONDERFUL, laughing out loud like this. And the mess hall lights up again with its airy conversations when Rey and Poe’s childish giggles show no signs of stopping. 

“You two are something else,” Finn finally yields with a smirk. “Don’t tell me—Poe’s strong in the force. Reading minds at _light-speed._ ”

Rey takes another bite of chowder and shrugs playfully, stifling more giggles. “Maybe the force is connecting us,” she says with a mysterious flair, “you, Poe, and me.”

“Or maybe I’m just right all the time,” Poe adds with a twinkle, resting his chin in his palm. He raps his fingers along his stubbled cheek, lost in a thought; then: “You’re a good man, Finn. The General sees that. Just like we do.” And Rey smiles, because Finn doesn’t argue at that. 

Poe’s still rapping his fingers along his cheek, though, brow furrowing steadily. “I’m always right.”

Finn rolls his eyes. “Alright _Mr. Right,_ ” he teases, “we know.”

Poe shakes his head. “No, it’s just… she wasn’t _disappointed_ , but,” Poe’s voice trails off while his eyes search for something. 

“She doesn’t like the plan,” Finn suggests, but Poe shakes his head again.

“No, it’s not that. I think the thing we can count on _is_ leaving, exactly according to plan,” Poe explains. He looks to Finn, “We’re going to Ahch-To,” and to Rey, “and you’re leaving with Han Solo. But something’s up, something she’s not telling us. And…” Poe trails off again.

“And you’re always right,” Rey finishes. 

He gives her a slow nod, repeating: “Something’s up.”

Han Solo’s graveled voice breaks through the mess hall’s chatter. “Hey you three.” 

The trio turns and watches Han as he takes long strides down their aisle of cafeteria tables. Poe was right, Rey realizes—it really had been a long day. She felt like she was dreaming. Or like the past 19 years were all a blurry dream in Jakku, and only now, _just_ now, while watching Han Solo cross the hall… now she was finally waking. 

“Where’s Chewie?” Han asks.

“Took his meal to the Falcon,” Poe replies. 

“I’ll go grab him. You three head back to the control room—mission debrief,” Han says, and then, to Finn, “You’re in for it now, kid.” Finn gulps. Back to the group: “Well? Don’t keep her highness waiting.”

They gather they dinner trays and silverware; Rey lifts up her bowl for one last sip of chowder as she gets up to go, but Han stops her: “Rey.”

Her eyes flit up to his. She hastily lowers her chowder bowl, wiping her lips with the crook of her elbow. “Yes, sir. Captain? Yes captain?” ( _Blast._ )

Han flashes that lop-sided grin. “Just Han,” he corrects, crossing his arms. “Tomorrow morning we take off. You can gather your belongings tonight and settle into the Falcon. If you’d like.” 

Rey gives a delayed nod. “I don’t have much,” she quietly admits.

“Well, the General might have some… parting gifts for you,” Han says. His eyes crinkle kindly. “You’ll see.”

Rey’s still not certain that she’s actually awake. “Thank you. Han.”

Han Solo raises his hands nonchalantly: “No thanks needed, kid. See you in the debrief,” and he starts towards the Resistance hangar, shoo-ing at Poe and Finn as if to suggest they should pick up the pace. 

Rey absentmindedly drops off her dinner tray and silverware, eyes lingering on Han as he exits the mess hall. “This is really happening,” she finds herself saying aloud, voice wispy. 

“Oh, it’s happening alright,” Poe says with a self-satisfied nod, and he gestures to himself: “What’d I tell ya. _Mr. Right._ ” 

Finn lets out a deep sigh. “I really regret calling you that.”

“Too late, no take-backs,” Poe replies with a smug smile, looping his arm amiably around Finn’s shoulders.

Rey laughs again—and it’s so _easy_ , laughing with Finn and Poe. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t have to hold her breath anymore; for the first time in a long time, Rey might finally be coming up for air.

And they head to the mission debrief, perfectly in step, and laughing,

_easily._

* * *

Space is limited in the private control room, now filled with select members of the Resistance’s high command; Rey recognizes a few familiar faces standing alongside General Organa, like Admiral Ackbar (whose name she’d overheard in many stories passed between travelers on Jakku), and See-Threepio, a very talkative protocol droid Rey had admittedly avoided these past few weeks. But the remaining leadership members are mostly strangers to Rey, with seriously drawn expressions and probing gazes. Her attention drifts to one stranger in particular—a tall, imposing human woman at General Organa’s right side. _Beautiful_ was the word that came to Rey’s mind, as she took in the figure’s striking blue eyes and dramatically dyed hair. Rey ducks her head and begins to pensively pick at her arm’s bindings; looking at that woman was almost like staring directly into Jakku’s sun.

General Organa steps forward, eyeing Rey, Finn, and Poe; she delivers them a welcoming smile, and for a moment Rey can imagine what Princess Leia might’ve looked like outside of rebellion and war, amongst friends. But when she turns to address the control room, Rey becomes acutely aware of just how powerfully the force moves through the General, as if Leia were a planet, and the room’s occupants were asteroids caught in her magnetic pull. Rey’s breath catches at its intensity. Then, the General speaks:

“We’ve enjoyed an unusual stretch of peace and quiet on D’Qar since our hard-earned victory on Starkiller Base,” she says, placing her hands squarely on the tabletop before her. “But it’s time to refocus. The First Order won’t lick its wounds in hiding for much longer; we have to act now, and act boldly. So,” a seasoned smile blooms along her lips. “What next.” 

She raps her knuckles along the tabletop. “The First Order should have, by all means, squashed our efforts. We’re vastly outnumbered. That remains truer still, since the devastating loss of the New Republic. A new, unspeakable darkness has risen within our enemy’s ranks,” General Organa says. Rey wonders at the deep grief roiling within Leia—marvels at how she can withstand anguish like this with such unshakable grace. The General’s eyes shift to Rey’s own ( _it’s like the galaxy can see right through her_ ), and she continues: “And with the darkness, light rises to meet it. It wasn’t chance that brought Rey into the Resistance’s fold,” (Rey’s heart skips a beat,) “—nor was Commander Dameron’s life saved by an uncanny stroke of luck.” (Poe leans into Finn ever so slightly, and Rey regards the warmth of the force flowing through them; it burns soft and low, like two candles sharing a timid flame.) 

General Organa straightens, chin held high, gaze keen. “Although the Force is often mysterious in its ways, one thing has become absolutely clear in my eyes: the tide of this war is taking a significant turn, and you three have been connected for the _good_ of our galaxy. That’s why I am entrusting the mission to Ahch-To to you, Finn,” the General nods to him in approval, “with Commander Dameron’s support.” 

The gathered leadership collectively stiffens, and Rey watches as their faces pinch at General Organa’s decision: The fate of the galaxy now depends on a ( _defected, brave, and profoundly good_ ) Stormtrooper. The candle Rey had sensed burning within Finn goes cold, so she grabs his hand and pours into him with all the comfort she can muster.

But nobody protests or raises their voice, and when Rey takes notice of Poe’s tightly balled fists and fierce eyes, she thinks that it’s for their own good.

Unfazed, the General carries on: “As I’m sure Commander Dameron’s made you all aware, Finn’s bravery has been remarkable, and I have no doubt in his character whatsoever. Within the depths of the First Order, this young man made a choice for himself, and for the good of those suffering around him—Finn, I firmly believe the Resistance’s resurgence began with your actions on Tuanul.” She smiles, once again the vision of a Princess unburdened. “And you still have a choice. I won’t make you fight for us, no matter what the circumstances. This is only your mission if you choose to accept it, Finn.” 

Finn considers this, and he looks to Rey, and she wishes all the worlds for him. She wishes freedom for Finn, and a home for him to return to, one filled with the family he’s always longed for. Blast her selfishness and fear—Rey longs to take Luke’s lightsaber back from him, to take back the weight she should have been destined to bear. And she reaches to him in the force with his own words— _This is your life, not their’s_ —but then Finn looks back up to Leia, and he nods: “I’ll go.”

* * *

  
  
In the hours that follow, General Organa breaks down Finn and Poe’s mission to Ahch-To step-by-step; they review their map’s course, and Poe debates at length with Leia over an appropriate vessel, eventually settling on a speedy (albeit poorly armed) star yacht. Finn listens raptly, but Rey recognizes that the exhaustion he feels matches her own.

“Threepio will be joining you,” the General adds at one point, and Poe looks up from the tablet he’d been taking judicious notes on, brows raised.

“Will that be necessary General?” he asks, and Rey understands—Poe’s tired, too.

“He’ll be useful in the Unknown Regions; Ahch-To’s inhabitants aren’t likely to speak basic,” she explains, a bit sly. “And I know you two get along _so_ well.” 

“It would be my _honor_ to assist you on such a crucial assignment, Commander Dameron!” Threepio announces with a polite bow. “Oh, what a delight—I wonder if Master Luke will remember me. Will Artoo be joining us as well, Princess Leia?”

“Not this time, Threepio,” the General says with a sympathetic shake of her head. “I’m going to need Artoo’s help, now that he’s awake.” She shares a knowing look with the striking woman Rey had admired earlier, and Poe clocks this, brow furrowed. 

Threepio’s shoulders slump a bit. “Ah, I see.” He straightens and swivels sharply to Poe again: “Not to worry! That BB-unit will be joining us too, no doubt! Rest assured, Commander, you and Private Finn are in _very_ capable hands.”

Rey and Finn’s eyes meet with thinly veiled snickers, but the look Poe shoots at them stops their giggles dead in their tracks; he lets out an irritated huff, blowing his dark curls up and out of his face. 

“Now—in regards to your return trip,” General Organa says, commanding the room’s attention once more, “an evacuation of D’Qar base is unfortunately in order. The First Order may not know our precise location, but they’re well aware of our system—it’s only a matter of time before they catch on to the base’s whereabouts. I’m afraid our time on D’Qar has come to an end.” 

Poe nods, crossing his arms. “So we pick up Luke Skywalker and follow suit to the new base. Any potential locations?”

General Organa answers: “In the earliest stages of the Rebel Alliance, my father, Bail Organa, led a small group of soldiers from an outpost _here_ ,” she pulls up a holo map of the Outer Rim Territories, selecting a planet labeled CRAIT. “The definition of _removed_. Well-hidden, completely desolate, and the mines that my father and his rebels had used are still heavily fortified. It’s no lush jungle by any means, but it’ll make do until we can find a more permanent headquarters.” 

The eye-catching woman at General Organa’s right ( _if the General was a planet,_ Rey deemed, _then this woman was like her silver moon_ ) steps forward, presenting a bracelet hanging loosely from her thin wrist. “Each of you will receive a transmitter bracelet, equipped with a cloaked binary beacon. If we face any setbacks during the relocation to Crait and have to change our course,” her narrow lips curl into a smile, “these trackers will guide you home.” 

She passes a bracelet to Poe, Finn, and lastly, Rey—who accepts it fearfully, cupping the tracker as if it were a baby bird. Her eyebrows knit, and General Organa answers Rey’s question before it can even begin to form in her mind:

“That includes you, Rey,” Leia adds warmly. “You’ll always have a place here, with the Resistance. No matter where your new journey takes you...” her eyes dart toward the back of the control room, where Rey sees Han Solo and Chewbacca have been waiting, “may the Force be with you.” The General smiles, and it’s so hopeful, and so sad. “Always.”

And Rey gives a shy bow of her head, clutching the transmitter bracelet to her chest. “Thank you,” she says softly, blinking back fresh tears. 

She doesn’t hear General Organa dismissing the room; dimly lit figures filter past her and out the door one by one, while Rey finds herself reflecting upon miracles again. Though the Force was awakening _within_ and _through_ and _all around_ Rey, she still couldn’t understand it: why had she, of all beings, been caught in this current? Amongst legends, and Princesses, and darkness and light, and profoundly _good_ people—how could a scavenger be allowed a seat at their table? (Something Rey can’t name yet growls in the pit of her stomach; it isn’t hunger. It’s something more. And it marks the awakening of something other than the Force in Rey—an emptiness, expanding.) 

Someone puts a hand to her shoulder and Rey startles with a shiver—but it’s only General Organa. The control room lay deserted, save for the two of them. 

“Han may have already mentioned this,” Leia says, regarding Rey with a sort of affection that makes her glow a bit on the inside, “but I have some gifts for you.” Her eyes twinkle, like starlight. “I’ve done my fair share of adventuring on the Falcon, and I wouldn’t exactly leave it to Han and Chewie to make sure you’re well prepared.” Leia takes her hand, and Rey’s heart somersaults. “Come on.”

Rey sputters out another shy, “Thank you,” then repeats, “really… _thank_ you, General Organa. I… I didn’t want to—“

“Rey, we should all be thanking _you_ , a thousand times over. You don’t need to explain anything to me, or to anyone for that matter, about the way you’re leading your life.” Leia leans in closely, close enough for Rey to see herself reflected in the General’s brown eyes. “I’m proud of you.” 

And as Leia leads Rey to her personal quarters, arm in arm, Rey thinks,

_The Force indeed works in mysterious ways,_

_because it somehow guided_ me _to_ you _._

The emptiness inside her is filled,

if only just for now.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That’s why I’m worried,” Doctor Kalonia says. Her eyes soften. “You like him.” 
> 
> Poe blinks. “Of course I—" he course-corrects, instinctively lowering his voice: “Everybody likes Finn,” he concedes, though it’s not what he really wants to say, 
> 
> and Doctor Kalonia raises one brow at him, unsatisfied.
> 
> “I owe him,” he continues, and this time, even softer: “And I care about him.” (Finn’s smile comes to mind.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6! It's been harder to get some good writing time in lately, but I'm gonna keep chugging along with this guy! Thank you for the kudos and comments. <3 Hope y'all enjoy the chapter! (I had fun digging into the FinnPoe feels, haha! <3)

Finn would’ve stayed behind with Rey in the control room because she’s _here_ , breathing the same planet’s atmosphere as he was; her laugh from dinnertime still chimes in his memory, clear and bright, as if she were actually laughing beside him now. It makes Finn’s stomach turn to think that come tomorrow night, Rey will be gone, and his memory of her laugh will slowly fade.

But a hot bolt of pain shoots up Finn’s spine, and though he swallows it down (a habit hammered into him from years of conditioning— _A broken trooper is a dead one)_ , Poe still catches Finn’s nostrils flaring from the sting. Finn shakes his head before Poe can get a word in: “I’m fine,” he says, but the ache is burning steadily now, like a star. He nods, as if to convince himself: “I’m fine.” 

“No you’re not,” Poe says, and he’s looking at Finn with that pity again—Finn hated that look, wished he could wipe it from Poe’s face. “C’mon, let’s go.” He loops himself under Finn’s arm and lifts gently.

“But—“ Finn looks back to Rey, and tentatively, 

he _reaches_ to her,

the way she sometimes reaches to him,

_(“You are strong in the Force. I can feel it,” she’d said. She had to be wrong. There must be another explanation—)_

but she isn’t _here_ in that way, like she was before. She was turned off to him, in some far away place, and didn’t feel Finn knocking. 

“She’s not leaving yet, buddy,” Poe says (something like sadness in his tone), “I promise.” 

Finn nods, and he flinches at another flare-up in his spine; he hobbles forward with Poe as the pain expands, like a weight being slowly pressed along his back, breaking him. (He’d take double of this burn—no, _triple_ it—over losing her. He’d fight Kylo all over again with his hands tied behind his back. No pain was worse than her being closed off to him.) 

When they attempt to take a step down a stairwell, Finn sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth: _“Not fine, not fine—"_ he huffs, shakily lowering himself to the ground.

Poe lowers with him, and he curses; “Doc’s gonna kill me.” 

* * *

“Poe Dameron,” Doctor Kalonia says, and it’s a warning. (People address him this way more often than not; greeting Poe Dameron usually means greeting trouble.)

Finn’s knees give out from under him right at the med bay’s threshold, and Poe grunts, struggling to keep Finn upright without overtaxing his spine. But Doctor Kalonia’s there in an instant; she circles a supportive arm about Finn’s waist and hoists, her eyes shooting cold daggers at Poe. 

Finn pants. “Sorry Doctor Kalonia,” he breathes, managing a weak smile for her. “Debrief went long.” 

“Oh stars, Finn; you don’t have to apologize to _me_ ,” she replies as they shuffle him to the nearest bed. “You were on some rather strong sedatives for your injury. I don’t blame you for rushing headfirst into another adventure,“ as they carefully prop Finn onto the bed, her voice turns sternly: “—when you’re ignorant to the risks.” 

Poe flinches. “Doc, I didn’t mean—“

“Let’s get you some batca packs for the night,” Doctor Kalonia continues, “and I’ll prescribe you some new pain relievers.” She reaches into her vest’s chest pocket and extracts a packet of translucent blue tablets. She pops one tablet from its packaging and hands it to Finn, paired with a cup of water; “These are milder, but they’ll do the trick. Take one tablet a night, two if your back’s especially angry with you. We’ll review a recovery plan tomorrow—light physical therapy, for you to practice during your mission. But for now,” her nose wrinkles when she smiles, “let’s rest, shall we.” 

Finn raises his glass to her. “Doctor’s orders,” he says, and he gulps down his tablet for the night. He smiles at Poe and Doctor Kalonia: “Thank you.” 

_Good Finn,_ Poe thinks, returning the smile softly. 

“Commander,” Doctor Kalonia says. Then: “A word.” 

Poe sighs. Here we go. 

He follows Doctor Kalonia into a separate wing of the med bay, one filled with shelves full of medicines and shiny refrigerators adorned with flashing lights. She begins to gather various tools (silver scissors, bandage wraps, two bacta packs from one of the refrigerators), her back turned to Poe. “You promised to bring him back in one piece,” she reminds him, reaching an arm up to a shelf carrying small vials of serum. The shelf’s a hair too high for the doctor; her fingers brush at one of the vials, but it wobbles and rolls back onto its side. She mutters: _“Blast.”_

“I know Doc. I’m sorry,” Poe says, and he means it, more than anything. He reaches over her and snags the vial off its shelf; “I shouldn’t have let him push himself like that.” Offering her the serum: “Won’t happen again.” 

“Of course it won’t,” Doctor Kalonia says. She takes the vial and pours its contents into a small dish. “Until it will, again. And again,” she tosses a look to Poe over her shoulder, smiling ruefully: “And _again_. I’ve been doing this job for a long time, Poe; promises can’t be easily kept. Not in war.” 

“This is different,” Poe says. His arms cross, expression sober. “Nothing’s gonna happen to Finn on this mission; not while I’m around. You know that.” 

Doctor Kalonia laughs—scoffs, really, taking Poe by surprise. “I do?” she says, her eyes wide. “Well, that’s news to me.”

“You know _me_ , Doc,” Poe tries to correct. 

“Yes. I do. That’s why I’m worried,” Doctor Kalonia says. Her eyes soften. “You like him.” 

Poe blinks. “Of course I—" he course-corrects, instinctively lowering his voice: “Everybody likes Finn,” he concedes, though it’s not what he really wants to say, 

and Doctor Kalonia raises one brow at him, unsatisfied.

“I owe him,” he continues, and this time, even softer: “And I care about him.” (Finn’s smile comes to mind.) 

“And you’ll do anything to protect him,” Doctor Kalonia says, “no matter the cost. You’ve got that look in your eye already, Poe; that stubborn, heroic resolve,“ (Poe can’t help but grin at the mention of ‘heroic’), “that almost always lands you here, in my care. You are reckless, Poe Dameron. Truly reckless. I really do wonder sometimes if you have a death wish.”

“A _death wish_ ,” Poe repeats with a bitter laugh, temper bubbling. “I’m just doing my job, Doc. Saving the galaxy involves occasional life-threatening peril, I don’t know what to tell ya.”

Doctor Kalonia sighs heavily, and crosses her arms. “I’m well aware.” 

Immediately, Poe deflates. “I’m sorry—“  
  
“I know, Poe.” Her smile is affable. (For as long as Poe’s known Doctor Kalonia, he’s admired the lightness in her manner; the way she could put any soldier at ease, even on the darkest of days—that was how Poe wanted to lead his own squadron. But tonight, in the quiet shadows of the med bay’s storage chamber, Poe sees Doctor Kalonia in a new light.) “Do you remember anything from your last stint with me?” she asks.

Poe taps his shoulder. “‘Course I do. Shoulder’s good as new,” he swings his right arm in a full circle. “I can throw a mean nega-ball.” (It was an X-wing crash, almost a year ago now. Freak surprise attack, rogue mercenaries. Poe had taken to his ship to lead them off the General’s tail, allowing her to escape to the Resistance base unharmed.)

Doctor Kalonia gathers her supplies again, handing Poe the two bacta packs. “She visited you, every morning.”

The packs are warm to the touch; “Pardon?” Poe asks.

“The General. You were put under, those first few days; there was no telling if you’d regain any function in your arm. We debated over a complete cybernetic replacement. It was _terrible_ , Poe,” Doctor Kalonia says with a small, sad laugh. An uncanny shiver runs through Poe’s arms. “And Leia’s first order of business, every morning, was having her cup of caf by your bedside while I operated. She was just beside herself. It’d taken a whole day to find you after the crash, and she told me,” Doctor Kalonia gently touches her cheek, lost in the memory, “‘I should _never_ have left him alone.’” Her gaze fixes upon his again, eyes steely: “Your actions have consequences, Poe Dameron.”

It’s like a blaster bolt through the chest: Poe’d never known any of this. He flexes his fingers compulsively, as if to check if they were really his, and not constructed from steel and bolts. And the General… Poe shakes his head. The General owed him _nothing_ , while he certainly owed her _everything_. He couldn’t stand to imagine otherwise.

Doctor Kalonia motions away with her head, looking past Poe: “I can already see he takes after you; selfish, and selfless.” Lines crinkle at the corners of her mouth. “He’s charming, though. Much more charming than you.” 

That makes Poe laugh quite a bit; he rolls his eyes. “Completely. Better looking, too.”

Doctor Kalonia smiles. “He’s a good one.”

Poe nods. “Yeah.” With a sigh: “He’s good.” 

“And, like you,” Doctor Kalonia says, taking a step toward Poe, “he’s not alone. Not anymore.” Her hand brushes his sleeve softly. “Remember that while you’re off saving the galaxy. Now,”

she steps past him, her tools bundled neatly in the crook of her arm. Gesturing to the bacta packs in his hands: “I’ll teach you how to apply these, hm?” And her eyes are light again. “Our favorite patient’s waiting.” 

* * *

Finn feels like he’s lying on a cloud; the blue tablet Doctor Kalonia had given him made the world sort of soft around its edges, like the overhead lights and walls were made from cotton. With a fresh bacta pack applied (hot and cool against his spine in the most wonderful way), Finn sinks into his bed and lets himself drift…

“Rey,” he mumbles with a jolt. He tries to blink the sticky exhaustion out from his eyelids. 

Poe jerks his head up, hair sticking about his forehead and temple. “She’s comin’ buddy,” he says, voice thick with sleep. “Any second now.” A long yawn escapes his throat; Poe rests his stubbled chin on his fist, and shuts his eyes slowly. 

“You should go to bed, Poe,” Finn says. He waves his hand lethargically. “It’s late.” 

“Says _you_ ,” Poe huffs, eyes still shut. “I’m wide awake.” 

“You were snoring,” Finn laughs, chuckles muffled partly by his pillow. “Loudly.” 

“That’s just the way I breathe, Finn. Hey. Don’t laugh. I’m serious,” Poe says, and they’re both laughing now—those long-winded, unhinged laughs that can only happen when the moons are out.

When their laughter dies down, Poe mumbles something, but Finn only catches the last of it: “…promised Doc.”

“Huh?” Finn asks as his eyelids start to flutter. He waits, but Poe doesn’t reply; Finn peers through his eyelashes at the pilot, wondering if he’d really fallen asleep for good this time. 

“It’s nothing,” Poe says suddenly, leaning over Finn’s bedside. There he rests his head in his arms, just a few inches from Finn’s pillow. His voice is low: “I’ll wait here.” 

Finn nods. “Ok. That’s good too,” he sighs, though he’s unsure now whether he said it aloud or simply thought it to himself. 

He finds himself slipping again. With every inhale he takes, Finn’s pulled further into sleep; images of _home_ come to mind, the one he’d dreamt of all his life. 

But Finn resists again, eyes flying open; there would always be time to dream of home. He needed to tell Rey goodnight.

“Poe,” Finn says. He taps Poe’s dark curls with a finger. _“Poe.”_

“Yeah buddy,” Poe breathes, rolling his head sleepily to the side.

“Where’s your home.”

Poe waits a beat. Then, lifting his head slightly to meet Finn’s eyes: “Home?” 

“Where are you from,” Finn asks again. 

“Oh. Uh,” Poe rubs his eyes with the palm of his hand, “Yavin 4, born and raised.” 

Finn blinks, adjusting to his right side. “Like, _Battle of Yavin_ , Yavin 4?”

“You shouldn’t lie on your side like that,” Poe gently pushes Finn flat against his pillow again, “bad for your back.”

“So you grew up with Luke Skywalker,” Finn presses on, “and the General.” 

“I was pretty young when they were still using the headquarters there. But my mother,” Poe rests his heavy head in his arms again, voice husky, “she worked closely with them. Luke, especially.” 

Finn lets out a little chuckle, shaking his head. “No wonder.” 

Poe takes pause. Then: “‘No wonder’ what,” he asks. 

Finn smiles: “No wonder you’re a hero, born and raised.” Poe’s eyes grow wide at that, shining through his curls at Finn. Finn glances up to the med bay’s ceiling; dense roots tangle through the cracks of the thick stone blocks above. “I used to get caught staring. A _lot_. All the time, really. Looking out of windows on cleaning duty, while the _Finalizer_ was orbiting over this or that planet. And I’d think,” Finn lifts his hand and points a finger to the ceiling, tracing slow lines along the roots overhead, “‘maybe _that_ one’s the one I came from.’ Maybe I’m from…” He drops his hand to his chest and shrugs with an easy smirk. “Who knows. Gatalenta, Couruscant. Anywhere that might tell me something about who I am. Or…” Finn sighs. “Who I’m supposed to be.” 

(Something inside him whispers: _a mistake_.) 

After a quiet moment, he catches Poe's stunned expression. Covering his face with his hands, Finn quickly adds: “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Poe’s dark eyes search Finn’s own, wearied, but terribly earnest. “Can I ask you a question now?”

Finn gives a timid shrug. “Sure.”

“Do you believe in miracles,” Poe asks, his gaze unwavering. 

_Miracles_. The word hangs there for a moment in Finn’s mind, and he wonders, leaning back into his pillow,

_Do I believe in miracles._

He thinks of the First Order. 

Of the family he never knew or loved.

He thinks of Rey—the radiance she’d regarded him with when he’d told her he was with the Resistance. No one had ever looked at him like that in all his life; like he was someone with a heart and soul. Like he was _worthy_.

He thinks of Poe; finding him, and gaining a name (a good name, _My name)_. Losing him. (Finn remembers the desert heat bearing down on his back and wandering Jakku’s endless expanse, Poe’s jacket thrown across his shoulders. _He saved my life_ , he’d thought; _he saved me, and I killed him_.) Finding Poe, again. (Poe’s smile, toothy and wide, comes to mind.)

And Finn thinks of the something that’s inside him. The thing that’s connecting him and Rey, and filling the space between him and Poe in the dark of the med bay—the whisper in his heart that’s been telling him ever since he’d accepted Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber from Rey that he might not be a mistake after all. 

_(Might.)_

He whispers: “I don’t know.”

Poe nods, his eyes still searching Finn’s. “Interesting,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. 

That’s when Finn hears Rey calling. 

Finn shoots forward so quickly that it electrifies his spine; “Rey— _ow ow ow,_ ” he cries with a shudder, easing back into his bedsheets.

“ _Easy_ buddy,” Poe says, giving Finn’s arm a gentle squeeze. “She’ll be here any minute.”  
  
“You didn’t…?” Finn shakes his head. “You didn’t hear—“  
  
 _Finn?_ , she calls again; this time Finn recognizes he’s not hearing her with his ears, but with his _heart_ ,

and then she’s here: Rey rounds the corner of the med bay’s threshold, a bundle of clothes pressed firmly to her chest. “You’re still awake,” she calls to them (with her true voice this time), her huge eyes full of dismay. 

Honestly, Finn feels wide awake again; Rey has that effect. She’s like the sun rising. She turns the night into morning. “You’re still here,” Finn reminds himself.

Rey rolls a seat up next to Poe's, still preciously clutching her bundle. “I was a bit side-tracked,” she says, gesturing with the armful of clothes. “The general didn’t want me to leave with Han Solo empty-handed.” Her eyes gleam as she pulls an ornate comb—its color somewhere in-between a cloudy gray and deep green—out from the bundle’s folds; “I’ve never held something so… nice,” she says, and that’s when Finn notices Rey’s hair:

It hangs long and loosely down her shoulders, save for a single braid twisted along her hairline and tucked behind one ear. The med bay’s dim lights give the braid a heavenly, crown-like glow, and Finn thinks,

 _She looks so happy_. She _feels_ happy; Rey was no longer closed off to him, like she’d been at their mission briefing’s close. She was beaming, really—some kind of sweetness and warmth billowing out from her being like a steady river. 

“How’re you feeling? Excited for tomorrow?” Poe asks warmly. 

Rey hesitates, but only for a moment; a shy smile buds along her lips as she gives Poe a short nod. "We're going to start with a few missions for Leia. Mostly recruitment, contacting some 'old friends', as she puts it. After that... who knows." Her eyes dart to Finn. “You’re leaving tomorrow as well,” she asks, carefully folding the comb back into her bundle of clothes.

Finn nods. “First thing.” The mission to Ahch-To was merely hours away now. He nearly groans aloud at the thought. _(A mistake, a mistake a mistake.)_

Rey’s brow creases. “Ah.” 

The three of them sit in silence, patiently—as if this time spent together _really_ belonged to them, and not to a war. Finn notes Rey’s braided crown, and the way Poe’s mouth naturally rests in an easy smile. He promises himself that this won’t be the last time they sit together this way—but he commits Rey’s braid and Poe’s smile to memory, just in case. 

And though it nearly kills him to do it, he breaks their shared silence with a whisper: “Maybe we should sleep.” 

It’s clearly understood that they’ll spend the night together: Poe and Rey makes themselves comfortable in the tiny space surrounding Finn’s bedside—Rey huddling in the alcove to his left, while Poe fashions himself a makeshift bed with two chairs to Finn’s right. Finn untucks the sheets from his cot for all of them to share, and though Poe insists he’s fine without them (“I’m not the one who was raised in a desert,” he says, offering his share of blanket to Rey), the sheets stretch over them perfectly, as if they were precisely made for three. 

“Goodnight you guys,” Poe mumbles, already half-asleep. 

“Goodnight… Poe,” Rey whispers. Then: “Goodnight Finn.” 

“Goodnight Rey,” Finn says. He lets out a long sigh, out of exhaustion, and relief. 

Rey shifts under the sheets, pressing her knees to her chest. “Can I tell you two something,” she asks softly. 

Poe opens one eye. Finn nods, replying, “Anything.”

She takes a few breaths. Curls up even tighter. “I think… I dreamt about tonight,” Rey whispers, “once, a long time ago.” 

Poe cocks his head a bit. “Which part did you dream of?”

Rey’s eyes shimmer. “Just… saying goodnight.” She pulls her share of the sheet to her chin. “I thought it was to my parents. But I think it was really… I think it might have been to _you_ ,” she says, her voice breaking just a bit. 

And Finn knows then, like he’s always known, that he’d run anywhere for Rey.

* * *

They all sleep deep and well that night, in the dim light of the med bay,

hand in hand in hand. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Finn,” Rey says, and she wraps her arms around Finn’s neck, hugging him tight. (The First Order doesn’t allow for favorite things, but Finn does, and his new favorite thing might be hugs.) “If you ever feel… if you ever feel lost, or, or alone, or, if you need me,” and she squeezes him even harder, “you reach out to me, Finn. You reach out to me, and I will find you. I promise. Promise me you will.” 
> 
> He has a feeling Rey’s good at keeping promises. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no update! Hope you all are safe and well. I took some time and combed through this fic, adding edits throughout the chapters here and there! It might be worth starting back at the beginning again for a refresher. Hope you enjoy, and rest well this weekend. <3

Leia isn’t sure she remembers how to rest; she isn’t sure she’s gotten a full night’s sleep since her home planet was obliterated with such swift, calculated, and cold indifference all those years ago. Since learning of her Skywalker blood—of that _machine’s_ blood running through her veins. Since losing Ben.

Leia’s grief does not rest.

But it’s not just the grief, nor dread, that keeps her awake; it’s also drive. It’s this scorching fire roiling just beneath her skin. It’s anger, red-hot, unrelenting.

And it’s hope.

She’s never felt so _hopeful_.

So Leia’s alert and ready long before D’Qar’s sun, Ileenium, rises. She oversees the evacuation of the Resistance base in stride; she doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t scowl. She gives orders, and offers insight, and whispers small encouragements. She feels… young. Like the princess robed in white, pulling Luke into her arms after the destruction of the Death Star. The same fire burned under her skin then at nineteen, as if she were an engine blazing, desperate for flight.

Cast in cool shadows across the way in the base hangar, Rey, Finn, and Poe embrace, exchanging murmured goodbyes and tearful gazes into the sacred space between them. Leia recognized these looks; she knew this particular kind of intimacy, _intimately_.

(Yes, anger burned within Leia; but love—

love sustained her.)

Leia has a good feeling about this. She really does.

With the sun hardly cresting D’Qar’s green valleys, Amilyn Holdo approaches Leia—speaking of feeling young. Since their first meeting as teenaged apprentice legislators for the Galactic Republic, Amilyn had never lost the spark of youth. Even now, the tall Gatalentan woman carries herself with carefree ease, lips pressed into an ever-present serene smile, limbs swinging more gracefully than chimes in the wind. She looks about the lively hangar. “Things were getting a little boring around here anyways,” Amilyn says, voice low, and Leia cracks her first real laugh in several weeks.

“You were never exactly one for settling, hm, Amilyn.”

“I’m rather uncomfortable with the idea of comfort.” Amilyn holds her chin high. “Keeps one from growing.”

“My father would say the same thing about all the caf I used to drink,” Leia sighs, and now Amilyn is the one laughing. “Should’ve listened.”

Amilyn eyes Leia warmly; though her dear friend’s hair color changed almost daily, Amilyn’s eyes always shown with a constant, brilliant blue. She turns her gaze once more to the bustling base hangar and keeps her voice hushed: “The Ninka is ready for your trip, as well as my crew. They understand that the nature of your mission is… undisclosed. Artoo-Detoo is prepped with the coordinates you provided me. And…” Amilyn’s hand sways to Leia’s side, and Leia lifts her hand to meet it; a transmitter bracelet is pressed into her palm, and Leia quickly slips it over her own wrist, hiding it beneath her dark sleeves. “To guide you home.” Amilyn shakes her own wrist, accessorized with a matching bracelet.

Leia gives a short nod. She feels the nearly indiscernible weight of the transmitter bracelet against her wrist; it’s tracking beacon would only be necessary if the Resistance were unable to reach Crait,

or,

if Leia was unable to complete her mission. The Resistance could use the same beacon to track Leia’s position.

It wouldn’t come to that. Leia would bring her son home on the Ninka. And if not…

“Are you sure about this, Leia.”

Leia blinks, recalibrating to the present. She raises an eyebrow at Amilyn, whose expression is uncharacteristically sober. “You’re not one to worry.”

“Never,” Amilyn cocks her head to the side, curious, “though, I do _wonder_. _”_ Her playful smile returns after a beat, not quite so effortless.

Leia’s smile comes more easily, and she takes Amilyn’s thin hand, interlacing their fingers gently. “Remember that old saying of mine? Hope is like…”  
  
Amilyn nods. She answers, “The sun.”

Leia lifts their hands up to her cheek and presses, eyes softly shut; she smiles into Amilyn’s fingers, and takes a deep breath. When she lets their hands fall, Leia says, “I _see_ it.”

And as she leaves to oversee more preparations, she can just make out Amilyn’s goodbye, whispered low: “May the Force be with you.”

Dawn breaks.

* * *

Poe doesn’t do mornings, and mornings don’t do him, either.   
  
There’s nothing good about them—certainly not the Bantha breath, or the way his hair takes a millennia to tame. Waking up early feels like the opposite of flying; it grounds you.

Waking up next to Finn and Rey makes mornings a little easier. Save for BeeBee-Ate resting in his charging port, Poe usually wakes up alone. Finn wakes up easily to Poe’s whispers, ever the soldier, at the ready. Rey takes a bit more than a whisper, finally stirring at a gentle nudge from Finn. She seems surprised at this.

“Sleep well?” Poe asks softly.

She blinks a few times, and rubs at her eyes. “Yes, actually.”

The only thing worse than mornings is goodbyes. Poe doesn’t do goodbyes. Your skin and muscle can repair itself after a blaster wound; Poe’s heart never seems to recover from goodbyes.

“I’ll ready the ship,” Poe murmurs to Finn and Rey, pulling back from their embrace. He gives Rey a short, clipped nod. “Han’s lucky to have you, Rey.”

Rey doesn’t seem to be the blushing type, though her lips twitch into a nervous grin. “You’re lucky to have Finn. He’s an excellent co-pilot, though you already know that.”   
  
Poe chuckles, giving Finn a grateful glance. “That I do. Alright. Whenever you’re ready, Finn.”

And he can see it in Finn’s eyes—he’s not ready. He never will be.

_(It’s like a weight that slips steadily from your fingers, inch by dreadful inch, and it’s inevitable, you have to let go, you must, but you hold on as long as you possibly can, and the weight only gets heavier, the weight slips faster still—)_

Poe doesn’t do goodbyes, so he spares himself from Finn and Rey’s, and makes his way up the landing ramp of their yacht to Ahch-To. But,

a shock of vibrant colors from across the hangar floor catches Poe’s eye before entering the yacht’s belly;

Vice Admiral Holdo’s lilac tresses,

and a blue binary beacon,

one being slipped from Holdo’s fingers directly into…

Leia’s.

Poe double-takes, faltering over his boots; his gaze drops to the transmitter bracelet tied about his own wrist, lightly pulsing with the same true blue. The questions come slowly, his mind still foggy with sleep.

_…Where would the general be headed, if not with the Resistance? Where would she go, so far off as to need a light to guide her way home?_

Poe blinks once,

twice—

Where will she go?

_(It’s like a weight, it starts to slip—)_

—then swivels about face on the heel of his boot and marches right back down the ramp.

He half-jogs across the hangar, weaving clumsily between officers pushing repulsorlifts full of supplies. “Leia,” he calls, voice a bit hoarse, and louder still over the din of the hangar, “Leia—!”

But before he can hardly halve the distance, Poe sees Han Solo approaching. Poe slows his steps, glancing warily between the general and her husband.

Leia meets Poe’s eyes for only a moment, then, and the message she sends him through this single look is so clear, he may as well have read her mind.

It’s a warning shot.

A _cease and desist, Poe Dameron._

And sure, he’s gotten plenty of those before from her, not like he ever listened.

But this time’s different. He doesn’t know why—it’s just a feeling. A strong one.

So Poe heeds the warning, and turns back to the yacht, even though everything in his body is screaming at him to find out where Leia could possibly be going now, right when he can’t follow her.

(The only thing worse than mornings and goodbyes is Leia knowing something Poe doesn’t.)

* * *

“What’s the deal with the kid?” Han asks, watching Poe storm hastily away. (Leia now knew Poe as a pilot and commander in her fleet; Han only knew Poe as the wide-eyed kid on Yavin 4, the one who liked to ask questions and tug at the hem of Han’s vest.)

“Who knows,” Leia says with an easy shrug. “Just about the only thing I can predict with Poe is his insistence on being…”

“Unpredictable?” Han laughs.

Leia winks. “Exactly.”

Han crosses his arms, looking Leia up and down. “Sounds like someone I know.”

And she smiles at him, and it’s suddenly startling—how _young_ she looks, and how young that makes him feel. Since Ben had been born, year by year, that smile (the toothy one, the cheeky one, where her chin jut out proudly, and her dimples popped) diminished, until Leia would only smile with her eyes, lips taut, if at all.

He doesn’t tell her he missed that smile; just savors it.

“Where to first,” she says simply.

“Well, hopefully a long ways from Kanjiklub,” Han half-mutters, his eyes drifting to the Falcon parked outside the hangar’s wide mouth. He can just make out Chewie prepping the cockpit, while Finn and Rey hover near the landing ramp below. “If anything, it should be up to Rey,” he thinks aloud. “Big galaxy. Far bigger than Jakku.”

“And now she’s found her place in it.” Leia runs her hand down Han’s leather sleeve.

Han doesn’t say how unqualified he feels, to be _that place._ (Leia knows.)

Han also doesn’t say how much he wants to be _that place._ (Leia knows that, too. Women always do.)

“You’ll tell me, won’t you,” Han says, taking a single step forward.   
  
Leia’s eyes widen. “Tell you what.”

“When they find him,” Han answers. “When they find Luke.”

Leia’s eyebrows knit, and she lifts a hand gently to his chin. “Oh, Han.” She pulls him into an embrace, looping her arms beneath his and about his back. She murmurs into his neck. “The very moment we do, I swear I’ll tell you.”

Han just nods. He doesn’t tell her how much he misses him—

“I know,” Leia whispers. “I know.”

And they stand there a while longer, longer than they usually might. (Leia wasn’t afraid of goodbyes—not like Han was. She ran into them headlong, unflinchingly; never again in her lifetime would Leia Organa regret missing the chance to say goodbye to the ones she loved.)

“Alright then,” Han musters. “The Resistance can’t, ah, evacuate without you.”   
  
Leia lets her arms fall with a sigh, gazing out into the fleet. “No, I suppose they can’t.”

Han opens his mouth to speak, then swallows, opting instead to take his wife’s hand. “I’m not very good at this, am I,” he finally says.

And she just gives his hand a squeeze, eyes twinkling. “Come on, sure you are. You’ve done it before.” And then Leia lets go,

and she walks out into the fray, calling, “Goodbye, Han.”  
  
And Han sighs. “Goodbye, princess.”

And then Han Solo does the thing he’s best at; he leaves, even when something small inside him begs, _stay_.

* * *

Finn spots Han through the throng of pilots and officers and turns to Rey, her right arm wrapped loosely around one of the landing ramp’s pistons, and her left clutching tightly to her satchel. Instead of a lightsaber, the satchel now carried multiple changes of clothes, a comb, and some books, all gifted by General Organa. Rey’s eyes watch Han, and then meet Finn’s, and there’s so much to say, but instead,

Finn _feels_ it.

And he remembers what Rey said, about reaching through the Force,

so he _reaches_ —

Rey’s eyes light up. “You do feel it.”

Finn huffs a bit, and just like that, the feeling’s gone, as easily as a good dream disappears the moment you wake. “I, I felt… I don’t know what I…” He clenches his fists, nostrils flared. “I don’t know if I can do this, Rey.”

“Finn,” Rey says, and she wraps her arms around Finn’s neck, hugging him tight. (The First Order doesn’t allow for favorite things, but _Finn_ does, and his new favorite thing might be hugs.) “If you ever feel… if you ever feel lost, or, or alone, or, if you _need_ me,” and she squeezes him even harder, “you reach out to me, Finn. You reach out to me, and I will find you. I _promise_. Promise me you will.”

He has a feeling Rey’s good at keeping promises. “I promise.”

And he can feel Rey’s smile in his neck. “Good. But trust me.” She pulls back and gives him a brilliant grin. “I know you can do this.”

“She’s right,” Han Solo’s gruff voice calls. Finn and Rey instinctively snap to attention, to which Han replies, “Easy, you two.” He addresses Finn again: “Do me a favor, bring Luke home in one piece, alright?”

Finn gulps. “Yes sir.”

But Han just rolls his eyes; “C’mere kid,” he says, pulling Finn into a brief hug. It’s short, and sort of brain-breaking, because Finn is _hugging Han-kriffing-Solo_ , but before that bewilderment can even register, Han is halfway up the ramp.   
  
Rey looks up to the pilot and waits, quietly expectant.

After a moment, he simply cocks his head to the entry way, beckoning Rey to follow.

Rey exhales sharply, like she’s been holding her breath, and takes a step up the ramp. She looks over her shoulder to Finn, and she beams. “May the Force be with you, Finn.”

And Finn feels it with him.

He _does._

Rey runs up the ramp. 

* * *

Kylo Ren feels someone calling him.

Someone… unfamiliar.

Snoke’s presence in his mind was wholly natural now, those skeletal fingers probing in the black. Kylo was well-accustomed to the way his feelings were so easily and forcefully combed through. The pain hardly registered anymore. He was completely numb.

No, this new presence wasn’t Snoke, though it certainly seemed to enjoy prodding him, like a child innocently picking at their scabs.

And like all scabs, they bleed when picked.

It’s been one month since the destruction of Starkiller Base,

one month since falling at the hands of the scavenger,

and Kylo still faintly feels as though he’s bleeding.

Rapid footsteps sound down the hall just beyond his quarters; judging by their self-important rhythm alone, Kylo knows their owner.

“If you value your life, General Hux, you will keep walking,” Kylo says, but the doors to his suite slide open with a SWOOSH, and in walks Armitage Hux.

“Save your snipping, Ren. I come with news from the bridge,” Hux drones, a light sneer pulling at his gaunt face. “The Resistance Base has been located. Some,” Hux scrunches his nose in disdain, “backwater planet in the Ileenium system; our fleet is en route. I suggest you quit your moping and address your _command_ , _Commander_.”

With a parting smirk, Hux takes his leave. And Kylo Ren—

_“You’re afraid,” the scavenger hisses,_

and Snoke’s fingers _dig_ and _scrape_ ,

and someone unfamiliar calls his name, his old name, _Ben,_

he _bleeds—_

* * *

Kylo Ren leaves to ready his ship, a familiar feeling building somewhere deep in his gut. As familiar as his anger, and dread, and drive, and grief. 

An _untethered_ feeling. 

And the someone keeps calling, tugging at his threads. 


End file.
